


Crowning Achievements

by overwhelmingly_awesome



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aziraphale is Smitten on Sight, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Aziraphale (Good Omens), Prince Crowley (Good Omens), Romance, They're All Princes, crowley is prince charming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overwhelmingly_awesome/pseuds/overwhelmingly_awesome
Summary: Prince Aziraphale had grown accustomed to his life in the Northern Kingdom. Every day was filled to the brim with charmed lords and ladies, banquets and gatherings, and travels across the land to appease his siblings. Life was predictable.Until his siblings threatened war with the Southern Kingdom.Now, his life is filled with uncertainty, strange newcomers, and an ambassador in the form of Prince Anthony, who is as mysterious as he is alluring.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 94
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! This is entry for the Good AUmens event!
> 
> I've been working on this since March, and so far, this is my longest fic to date. I'm so excited to share this story with all of you. 
> 
> I'll post a chapter at least once a week, and I anticipate changing the rating later on. Lige's a bit crazy right now (as I'm sure you all understand), but I'll be finished school in two weeks, at which time I'll come up with a set schedule for posting. 
> 
> I know I've enjoyed writing it, but I hope you all enjoy the tales of Prince Aziraphale and Prince Anthony!

It all started, as many great stories do, with a party. 

It wasn't a gathering held for any particular holiday or celebration, it was simply a banquet held for the purpose of gathering amongst good company, both new and familiar. For a singular night, each of the guests ignored the boundaries that divided the estates and kingdoms, in favor of chatting amongst themselves, and dancing along to the music that filled the room alongside the smell of extraordinary wine, and food piled atop the banquet tables. 

After only an hour or so, the banquet had quickly risen to full swing, the energy rising up to the rafters along with the crescendo of the music. 

Aziraphale couldn't help but grin as he settled into the familiar atmosphere, drifting around the perimeter of the room, as was often his wont. He admired each and every one of the little splendors that decorated the grand hall around him, from the intricately sewn gowns, to the capes that had been designed to sweep elegantly in time with each of the dancer's steps. He listened to the chorus of laughter that seemed to continue infinitely on into the night, shouting alongside the blare of the band's instruments as if it were written into the sheet music. 

Aziraphale was hardly a stranger to gatherings like this. As the middle son of the Northern Queen, he'd treated socializing like an occupation of sorts, knowing full well that it was his obligation to attend every ceremony, banquet or festival that any of the kingdoms could come up with, spreading goodwill and friendliness to as many of the high ranking citizens inside and out of his home kingdom. The obligations had picked up slightly as of late, as each of his siblings grew tired of interacting with strangers beyond their own inner circles, leaving Aziraphale the responsibility of maintaining the kingdom's good image. 

Perhaps another man would have found it unpleasant, but Aziraphale had grown rather fond of his task. It was something that he often found joy in, as he was given the opportunity to explore other kingdoms, meet new people, and escape from his normal routine.

This event had been long anticipated, and from what Aziraphale had seen so far, had exceeded his expectations. Though smaller gatherings had their charms, Aziraphale rather enjoyed the sort of excitement that accompanied a grand banquet such as this, and this particular gathering had proven to be more exciting than any he'd been to for some time. 

The walls were blanketed in tapestries, woven with intricate patterns of bright red and gold, and Aziraphale couldn't think of a time when he'd heard more exceptional music. Even the food had blown the northern prince away, introducing him to dishes he'd never encountered before, while filling the room with smells that seemed to fill his mind with gluttonous thoughts. He'd even been tempted to dance - something he tended to avoid, as his two left feet had left him wanting in the coordination department. Yet, he found himself laughing alongside his partners as he clumsily attempted the unfamiliar steps, garnering nothing but friendly laughter. He'd danced until he'd run out of energy, then moved on to the banquet tables. 

Perhaps this party seemed better than most simply because it had brought Aziraphale out of the Northern Kingdom. The prince enjoyed the gatherings that were held at his own home, relishing in the familiarity and comfort that accompanied them, but after an extended amount of time without venturing out into other kingdoms, Aziraphale would find himself trapped in his normal repetitive routines. After a while, the elegance and high quality that his family was so known for would become more stifling than glamorous. A change of pace was always appreciated.

Of course, this banquet had been held in a location that couldn't be farther from his own kingdom, both in physical distance, and in overall behaviour.

Aziraphale found himself in the center of the Southern Kingdom, which in and of itself, often led to some sort of excitement. 

The elusive royal family very rarely opened their doors to the public, preferring instead to attend the odd gathering at another kingdom, or forgoing this sort of activity altogether. However, a few times a year, they would invite the people of the four kingdoms to visit, and throw some of the most magnificent parties. 

The entire kingdom held a thrum of excitement to the northern prince, who'd grown accustomed to his own home's polished white image and assumed dignity. The Southern Kingdom - though still as dignified and classy as it needed to be - held an air of mystery and liveliness that failed to be replicated anywhere else. The royal family saw to it that any of their events would be filled to the brim with interesting music or performers, ever-flowing wine and platters of food, and just enough darkened corners and hallways to encourage a healthy amount of illicit activities. 

A few years prior, Aziraphale had posed the theory that the princes of the Southern Kingdom purposefully provided an excess of alcohol and freedom, just to see what would happen amongst the guests. Aziraphale didn't begrudge them for this act, but made sure that he maintained his composure and his shiny good image. He simply sat back and watched, admitting his curiosity in how it would all turn out only to himself. 

The royal family was also known for their penchant for arriving fashionably late, to even their own gatherings. Even now, with everything fully in motion, they had yet to arrive, instead tending to whatever it was that occupied the attention of the two younger family members. Aziraphale predicted that though they clearly knew how to organize a party, the pair of them simply preferred to be left to themselves. Aziraphale could appreciate that. They'd come when it suited them, and left at the earliest possible opportunity. The northern prince supposed that it added to the overall lingering mystery about the Southern Kingdom, but found he didn't care all that much about whether or not he interacted with the closed-off princes. 

Aziraphale knew better than to expect the king to make an appearance. 

As time passed, Aziraphale observed the gentle dips in energy of the guests, which simply meant that the activities switched back and forth from dancing, to drinking and conversation. Luckily, these were two activities at which Aziraphale excelled. The bright prince had become well versed in spreading friendly conversation with nearly anyone within a few metre radius, and knew that with his status, not a soul didn't want to entertain him. He tried to get by on more than just his royal standing, but he could admit that it made finding conversation partners slightly easier. 

Presently, Aziraphale watched as the song came to an end, partners bowing to each other gleefully, and offering their goodbyes. For many it would be only a temporary measure, as they'd be back on the floor at the next upbeat song. 

Aziraphale grabbed himself a cup of wine, and continued his leisurely rounds about the room. He tried to avoid staying stagnant for too long, and he recognized that there were really very few places for a man to sit a gathering like this. The only small chairs or benches would be occupied by a dancer resting their weary feat, or someone too drunk to stand steadily. Aziraphale thought that either case needed the seats more than he did, and instead opted on a slow walk about the room, or a slight lean against the wall. 

Suddenly, they were all greeted by the sound of horns. 

Hundreds of heads turned to face the entrance of the room, where the royal family stood proudly, waiting to be introduced. 

Aziraphale watched as the herald introduced the pair of princes, beginning with Prince Beelzebub, and followed by Prince Dagon. The northern prince recognized them both, having met them on multiple occasions. They appeared seemingly unchanged since their last encounter, still sporting the customary dark attire of the South, and the ever-familiar stern frown that appeared to be a family trait. They both held themselves proudly, nodding to the crowd stiffly, and maintaining a slightly haughty atmosphere.

Aziraphale supposed this wasn't completely unwarranted behavior, as Prince Beelzebub (the first descendant of the King's older brother) was first in line to the throne. Their status held them far above most of the party's occupants, Prince Dagon falling just behind them. 

The southern royal family's line of succession was rather complicated, as it was a well known fact that the king had failed to produce any heirs. Aziraphale always found that phrasing funny. Could something really be considered failed if one had never really tried? The man was a recluse, and despite his near constant spats with the Northern Kingdom, he hadn't interacted with anybody long enough to form the sort of connection that would result in a child. Aziraphale had never even seen the man in person, as he hid himself away during festivals and other gatherings. 

The crowd watched as the pair of princes made their way down to the floor to where the thrones were situated. 

Aziraphale turned away momentarily, only to hear the Herald call out another name into the crowd. 

" _Prince Anthony, of the Southern Kingdom._ " 

The conversation (that hadn't truly paused when the first two royals were announced), came to a halt. 

Aziraphale, much like the rest of the room, stared at the man in front of them. The man - Prince Anthony, Aziraphale had to assume - held himself with a similar posture to the other royals, with his stiff spine and raised nose, but wore a rather neutral expression, instead of the ever familiar southern scowl. 

Aziraphale shuffled through the crowd around him, to get a slightly better look. 

The southern prince had shockingly bright copper red hair, slightly tanned skin, and wore dark shades to cover his eyes. Much like the other southern royals, he was outfitted entirely in black, save for the deep red underside of his cloak, and the gold of his crown nestled atop his head. 

They appeared to be similar in age, though that appeared to be where the similarities ended. The stranger's tall and dark exterior struck the northern prince as both rather fascinating, and slightly intimidating; at least, that's what Aziraphale assumed was causing his heart to beat slightly quicker in his chest. 

Prince Anthony nodded to the herald, before sauntering into the crowd. 

He avoided the head of the room, where the thrones (only two, Aziraphale observed, knowing he'd have to revisit that mystery later) were seated, instead opting to dive directly into the pool of visitors, greeting them with an unexpectedly warm smile. 

Those who knew the prince - a surprisingly low number of people, it appeared - greeted him with an equal fondness, with friendly handshakes and brief small talk that Aziraphale couldn't quite hear from his vantage point. The room had quickly bounded back to its former glory, breaking free from its momentary stillness, continuing into loud conversation and dancing. 

Aziraphale attributed his fascination with the redheaded prince to the sheer unfamiliarity that surrounded this whole encounter. 

How had he never met a prince of the Southern Kingdom? Sure, their relations with the Northern Kingdom had always been a tad strained, but a birth was always celebrated. Connections amongst other kingdoms started at birth with a prince. Even the most reclusive royals would be well known across the land. Perhaps he'd met the man before, and had simply forgotten. 

No, that couldn't be it. Prince Anthony was… memorable. 

He tried to keep from staring, but his curiosity got the best of him as the man travelled across the room.

The man was tall, or at least taller than Aziraphale, with a lean build that lent itself well to strolling across the room.

Aziraphale noted the strangeness of the shades across the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes, and tucking neatly into his long hair that had been pulled back behind his thin golden crown. Aziraphale could admire the cut of his cheekbones, and the line of his jaw as he talked, committing the prince's unfamiliar (and distractingly handsome) features to memory. 

Aziraphale didn't appear to be the only one who didn't recognize the mysterious prince. Many of the guests followed him with a similar fascination, whispering amongst themselves as they attempted to hide their observation from view. 

In one odd encounter, Aziraphale watched as a rather short southern lord brushed up against Prince Anthony's side, only to bestow a truly unpleasant glare in his direction. Anthony, instead of addressing it, avoided his gaze with a wince. Why would a lord from the South be so hostile to a royal prince? And why would the prince appear so uncomfortable?

Unfortunately, Aziraphale was given a great opportunity to see the entirety of the man's face, as he turned to see Aziraphale openly staring at him. The blonde turned away in an attempt to preserve his dignity, feigning interest in a new platter on the banquet table. 

Perhaps he hadn't noticed. 

Unfortunately, his prayers that he hadn't been spotted remained unanswered, as Aziraphale saw the prince slowly making his way closer and closer to the corner of the room where the northern prince currently stood. 

Soon, they were face to face. 

He smiled, in a way that was truly, unfairly charming, and gave Aziraphale a shallow bow. Aziraphale returned the action. 

"Hello there," the redhead said, his voice low and smooth. "Enjoying the party?"

Aziraphale nodded. He was pleased to see that the prince clearly hadn't been offended by the staring.

 _He's probably used to it,_ Aziraphale thought, _unfamiliar and handsome? He's sure to draw the odd glance._

"Yes, it's-" he took a breath, steadying himself. He smiled back at the prince. "It's all quite lovely."

Prince Anthony smiled contentedly. "Mm. Good." He settled himself next to Aziraphale, moving to lean up against the wall. "I thought it was all a bit much at first, but I think I'm growing to like it." 

Aziraphale heard the faint sound of string instruments starting up another lively song, but felt the music dim into the background.

"You know," the southern prince started, turning to face the Aziraphale, "I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you, officially. I'm Anthony." 

Aziraphale blinked up at the man. Usually these things tended to be a bit more formal. However, on the receiving end of his smile, he felt protocol slip from his mind. 

"Aziraphale." He returned. 

Anthony cocked an eyebrow. "Ah yes, the northern prince. I'd heard you'd come to visit," he chuckled. "We don't get an awful lot of northern folk down here." Aziraphale fought the urge to snort. That was an understatement. This was the first time Aziraphale had been down here in years, and his family members were more adverse to travel than he was. 

"It's nice to meet you, your highness."

Aziraphale returned the sentiment, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach that came alongside the prince's low, and rather charming voice. 

After a few moments of small talk - discussing the wine, the food, a few of the guests - Anthony turned back towards the dancefloor. Aziraphale found himself much more distracted than his counterpart. 

He tried to subtly determine the colour of the prince's eyes, still hidden beneath the cover of shades across the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale could only see the slight flicker of his eyelashes as his eyes floated across the dancefloor, following each step or swaying movement. 

"Do you dance?" Anthony asked lightly, nodding towards the center of the room.

"Sometimes, but not often," Aziraphale laughed, "I prefer to watch. Safer for everyone." 

Anthony smiled a little wider. "That's understandable. I'm not much of a dancer myself." 

_Too bad._ Aziraphale thought fleetingly. He'd certainly have liked to watch the man dance, long and smooth as he was when he walked. Perhaps later on in the night, he could convince him otherwise. He took a sip of his wine. 

"So, Aziraphale," Anthony began, rolling the syllables over his tongue as they were a strange sort of wine, and he was trying to ascertain the flavor. "Any particular reason you're here? People from other kingdoms don't usually visit unless they've got some sort of business to attend to."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Nothing quite so interesting, I'm afraid. I suppose I'm here just for a bit of fun."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "A long way to travel for a bit of fun." 

A five hour long carriage ride, to be exact. Luckily, Aziraphale had been gifted with the ability to read in a carriage without getting motion sickness, so it hadn't been much of a struggle. To be quite honest, it had been quite enjoyable. He'd always liked a certain amount of travel, provided he was able to find ways to entertain himself. A long carriage ride felt like a liminal space, where nothing needed to be accomplished, and there's no pressure to solve any problem or engage with anybody beyond your own mind. As well, it had been hours of peace, away from his siblings.

Of course, his siblings hadn't understood it either. It had been a point of tension between them for a week, each of them pestering him about it for ages, before finally allowing him to go.

"I don't mind the travel. It's something to do, I suppose." 

Anthony seemed content with that answer. He looked at Aziraphale's cup of wine, now empty. "I'm headed to grab one of those myself, d'you like a refill?" 

Aziraphale nodded. Swiftly, the prince swooped away with the cup, the crowds parting slightly as he made his way to the other end of the room. Aziraphale saw the man greet other partygoers along the way, with a similar charming smile that he'd encountered only moments before. However, he'd also dodge another occasional dirty look, often from those with a similar appearance to the other southern princes. Stiff, and unpleasant. Aziraphale couldn't serve why someone would harbor ill-will against such a pleasant fellow, but he supposed he'd only just been acquainted with him. Perhaps there was more than meets the eye. 

The prince returned in a few moments, with a flourish, and two glasses of wine. Aziraphale accepted the cup gratefully. 

Anthony sighed contentedly as he leaned back against the wall, gently clinking his cup to Aziraphale's, before setting his sights once again out across the room. 

"I think this is my favorite part of the night," Anthony said after a few moments of silence. "You can get pleasantly drunk, and watch as everyone else has their own little adventures." 

They both watched as a woman stumbled over the hem of her dress, narrowly avoiding spilling the wine over herself by allowing it to fall on a man next to her. He looked less than pleased.

" _Adventure'_ is an awfully nice way of putting it," Aziraphale chuckled. "But I have to disagree. I think I like the music best. You only get to listen so often, and it's always so well done." 

Anthony nodded in agreement. They stood, together, for a moment, watching as the dance carried on in front of them. The song was turning into something a little less lively, and the guests dispersed across the floor, talking and drinking. Aziraphale watched as Beelzebub sat rigidly in their throne, face struggling to hide their boredom. 

Aziraphale nodded in their direction. "It seems as though your siblings don't share your fondness of these engagements." 

Anthony turned to see what Aziraphale was referring to. The older southern princes held expressions that one could find most commonly in a torture dungeon. Every few moments, they'd talk amongst themselves, before returning to a sour discontent. He snorted. "They're not fond of anything, really. I'm shocked they do this as often as they do. They'd rather hole themselves up in their rooms, and not speak to anyone beyond each other." 

A man tried to talk to Dagon, who responded with a face so cold, Aziraphale thought the man would turn to stone. 

"They really do look miserable." 

Anthony hummed, and took a sip of his wine. Aziraphale tried not to admire the line of his throat as he swallowed the drink, instead focusing on the darkened expression that crossed his face as he watched his siblings. 

"My family doesn't really enjoy this either," Aziraphale said quickly, in an attempt to lighten his mood, "they throw parties to please others, sure, but they'd rather have a hunt, or something. This is too pleasant for them, I think."

Anthony laughed. It was a light, energetic thing, and Aziraphale immediately decided upon causing it to occur again as soon as possible. 

"From what I know of your family, I'm not shocked that they're more interested in a more bloody affair." 

Aziraphale heartily agreed. "Have you met any of them before? My siblings, I mean." 

Anthony thought for a moment, letting his long fingers run down the line of his neck. "I don't think so," he smiled down at his companion, "but if they're all as pleasant as you, I should think I'd like to." 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again wordlessly.

"Ah, perhaps they're not all as pleasant," he laughed. "Regardless, I'm sure I'll meet them sooner or later." 

Aziraphale seized his opportunity. "If you don't mind my saying, I'm surprised we've never met before. Do you not normally attend these sorts of things?" 

Anthony set down his cup, and met Aziraphale's eyes through his dark glasses. 

"No, I suppose I don't," he said, after a moment of consideration, and an unreadable expression across his face. "I'm a little new to all of this." 

Aziraphale was about to ask what he meant by that, before a woman bumped into Anthony, spilling red wine across his front. 

It seeped into the night-dark cloth, and licked up the prince's throat, momentarily giving him the appearance of a man who'd been shot by an arrow. The red stood out alarmingly against his skin, and the wet cloth of his tunic clung to his chest. 

The woman gasped, and began apologizing profusely. Aziraphale calmed her slightly, and Anthony shooed her away. The other partygoers began to stare at the commotion, and as the blonde prince looked up at his companion, he was quickly met with a look of fear. 

" _Shit,_ " the prince breathed, and Aziraphale noticed that they'd both garnered the attention of Anthony's siblings at the head of the room. Perhaps Anthony had been alright with a moderate amount of attention, but this had begun to exit his comfort zone. 

Impulsively, Aziraphale grabbed onto one thin wrist, and pulled him out into the rooms adjacent hallway, away from the eyes of the crowd. 

As soon as they paused against a stretch of bare wall, Aziraphale gazed up at the castle around him, and felt his breath catch in his throat. 

The walls seemed to climb up endlessly into the ceiling, and the music echoed around them hauntingly. The southern castle wasn't known for its inviting appearance, but he'd never realized just how tall and wide it seemed to spread, or how dark it appeared. 

Anthony leaned up against the nearest wall. He tugged the wet tunic away from himself, with a damp noise that sounded horribly unpleasant. The southern prince wrinkled his nose, but unlike his shirt, his attitude didn't seem to be dampened. He chuckled softly in disbelief as he uselessly wiped along his front, before giving up entirely, resigning himself to his fate. 

"Well, there goes my evening," he sighed, his voice echoing out across the empty hallway. 

Aziraphale tutted. It was only a little wine, how hard could it be to dry the man off? Without thinking, he pulled off his own cloak that had been strung around his shoulders, and began dabbing at Anthony's front, to try and draw away the wine. The cream-white fabric came away red, but he seemed to be having some degree of success drying off the damp prince. Anthony stared at him with wide eyes. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, brows furrowing.

"You're soaked through, I'm trying to dry you off." He continued pressing the cloak against the man's chest. 

Anthony stilled him, grabbing his wrist. 

"Your cloak-"

"I have others," he scoffed. "Besides, it'll all come out with some cold water. Probably." 

Anthony stared at him, mouth agape. "I-" he paused. "I have other _shirts,_ Aziraphale. I can go grab one, it'll be ok." 

Aziraphale frowned. "But then you'll miss the rest of the night!" He noted the strain in his own voice. He didn't realize how much he was against the thought of ending their interaction here. Regardless of the man's good looks, he seemed at least a little bit fascinating. He'd hoped to talk to him more throughout the night. 

Anthony laughed, and pulled away from the blonde prince. "There'll be others of those too." His hands lingered on Aziraphale's wrists. "Besides, I'm right down the hall." 

Aziraphale stood back with a huff. 

Anthony stood up, away from the wall. "I'll be right back." He looked down at Aziraphale's cloak, now stained with wine. He took it carefully from Aziraphale, folding it in his hands. "I can have this sent to your room. You are staying the night, right? Or are you heading back home after everything ends?" 

"I'm heading right back I'm afraid." 

Anthony nodded. Did he look… disappointed?

"I'll have someone put it in your carriage then." He looked up to smile at Aziraphale, and let out a soft sigh. "Head back inside. I'll be back soon." 

Aziraphale returned to the room, as Anthony turned the corner out of his view.

With a sigh, he once again took up his post at the wall of the room. He waited patiently for the prince's return. 

After about half an hour, the banquet table was graced with a few new platters of food, which Aziraphale enjoyed thoroughly, chatting alongside a few other guests, who'd been waiting for a chance to talk to the bright northern prince for much of the evening. He entertained them for a few moments, before continuing to scan the room for his redheaded companion. 

After almost an hour of waiting, Aziraphale's attention was drawn to Prince Beelzebub. The royal had scoffed loudly, and had turned to frown at a page. The young boy, whose message had been so eagerly rebuffed, cowered at the expression of anger. 

The prince spoke briefly to Dagon, before slouching back slightly in their throne. Despite the prince's rather small stature, they filled the throne in spirit. They had a quick flare of discontent across their face, before saying something back to the page, who quickly left the room. 

Unfortunately, time continued to march forwards, and Aziraphale watched as the room began to settle down around him. Guests dispersed themselves into their carriages, or into the guest corridor, where many of the attendants would stay until they left in the morning. Aziraphale walked to his own carriage, disappointed. 

_Perhaps I'll have to find another occasion to visit the southern kingdom,_ he thought. It might be tough to convince his siblings, but if he were able to share a few more conversations with the handsome prince, it would be worth it. 

His luck however, took a turn for the better. As he turned the hallway towards his carriage, he suddenly greeted by the sight of the redheaded prince, speaking in hushed tones to a servant. Anthony met Aziraphale's eyes as he walked by, nodding to the servant before quickly approaching the blonde.

The prince was dressed now in dryer clothes, without his cloak, his crown, or his shades. Aziraphale was quickly met by the intensity of his eyes, which were revealed at last, and shone a honey sort of brown. They nearly matched the golden embroidery across the walls.

"Aziraphale!" He smiled. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile in return. "I apologize for not meeting up with you again," he sighed. "Something came up."

Aziraphale brushed it off. "Don't apologize. I understand." 

Anthony still seemed a little disappointed. Aziraphale tampered down his slight pleasure in the fact that his companion felt similarly.

"I still hope to make it up to you some time." He smiled softly. "I'll see you again soon, Aziraphale." 

Anthony was confident in his statement, and Aziraphale realized with a start that he believed him wholeheartedly. He bowed softly, bidding Anthony farewell.

He made his way back to his carriage, as the night stars were high in the sky. The carriage jolted forward with a start, heading back home for the night. 

Quickly, he noticed his cloak, folded neatly on the seat across from him. Atop it, sat a note. 

_I hope I haven't ruined it too badly. Thank you for your kindness. - Anthony_

He unfolded the cloak to find it slightly damp, but free of the wine stain. Anthony must have gotten a servant or someone to clean it for him. Aziraphale sat back against the rocking carriage, holding the note in his hands. 

_What a curious man._

He looked out of the window as the castle disappeared from view, letting the carriage rock him to sleep. 


	2. The Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, Aziraphale finds himself blown back towards the Northern Kingdom. 
> 
> Political tension, familial tension, and if all goes well, romantic tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a little while. 
> 
> I'll be honest with you, I don't really know whether or not I'll finish this exactly how I'd planned, but I loved writing this story, and I had so many ideas for it, so I thought I'd at least publish the content that I'd written, which comes in at about 4 chapters, and then I'll see where the wind takes me regarding either a satisfactory open ending for me to return to this later on, or an actual conclusion. 
> 
> I don't know how often I'll be posting this, but I have this chapter and the third chapter all written, along with much of the fourth, so I'll try my hardest to get those out, simply because I worked really hard on them, and it seems like a waste not to publish them, after all of this. 
> 
> So, without further ado: we've met Prince Anthony, and Prince Aziraphale. We've met much of the Southern Royalty. Now, it's time to meet the Northern Royalty.

_ 2 years later - Present day _

Aziraphale climbed out of the carriage quickly, thanking the footman. He clutched the book that had been keeping him company on the ride close to his side, and nimbly fixed his coat as he approached the entrance. 

He stared up at the familiar white brick of the castle, and the tall rod iron gates that stood between him and his home. A few guards lingered around the outside, nodding at the prince as he entered, meeting his smile with stern professionalism. He'd nearly forgotten the cool distance that his siblings had expected of the castle staff, and realized that he'd have to readjust if he were to have any success interacting with them. 

His siblings took hierarchies to heart more than any other royal family he'd encountered. Everyone in the castle knew their expectations regarding near silence and obedience, from the maids to the footmen, knowing that a slight breach in contract would result in the loss of a job. 

Aziraphale hated it, if he was being honest to himself, but he knew better than to question it, and it wouldn't take him long to be reacquainted with it.

He'd been travelling for almost a year, to the other kingdoms as well as the other estates within the Northern Kingdom's limits. He'd talked to the lords and ladies, meeting their families, touring the grounds of their estates, and settling small trade disputes. Nothing major of course, that was better left to his older siblings, but he supposed that his cheery personality eased along some stubborn decision makers into agreeing with the castle. 

He'd spent two months lingering at the Eastern Kingdom, watching the new king and queen settle into royal life, with their new son. Aziraphale had been a personal fan of Queen Eve, who had indulged his love of reading by giving him free rein to the castle's extensive library. 

The East had been a warm opposite to Aziraphale's home, with endless summers and sprawling orchards. Even as the prince had left the kingdom, he'd been struck by the sheer  _ green  _ of it all. 

Aziraphale left with a heavy heart, returning home to the cooler, rockier terrain of the Northern Kingdom, and embracing it like an old acquaintance - recognizable, but coolly distant. 

The castle seemed to be unchanged, still grand and imposing, with its marble-white interior laced with paintings and gilded trinkets, chillingly empty beyond shallow objects that lay untouched on various shelves. 

He wandered down the hallways, listening to the ever present silence, disturbed only by the odd servant, who walked militantly into the odd chamber or adjacent hallway. 

He hadn't planned to return, not for some time at least, but he'd grown wary of the discussion he'd been hearing trickle out with every letter. 

_ The Southern Kingdom, _ one of his siblings would write, in their stiff and overly formal looking handwriting,  _ has been encroaching on its Northern borders.  _

_ Disregarding trade agreements.  _

_ Ignoring formal letters of disapproval.  _

The Southern Kingdom always seemed to be stepping on the toes of the North, and though this wasn't exactly new, the tone in the letters had changed. His siblings weren't prone to rash actions, but they were inching closer and closer to retaliating, stalling trade or discussion until they got whatever it was they were looking for. 

Aziraphale's youngest brother had even tossed around the word  _ war  _ in his latest letter, compelling the prince to pack up his things, and return home at once. Perhaps he couldn't do very much in the way of changing his siblings' minds, but that wouldn't stop him from trying, at least for his own peace of mind. 

Aziraphale soon reached the grand hall, where Gabriel and his siblings often liked to hold their gatherings. Aziraphale had often thought that the presence of the thrones, lined in a deep purple velvet that matched the heavy curtains around the climbing windows, made Gabriel and the rest of them feel more important. It was the same reason why each of them stubbornly refused to remove their crowns amongst any sort of company. Aziraphale never said anything, but he knew well enough how meaningless things like those could influence the Northern Kingdom's ego.

He entered, the guards once again tossing him a nod of acknowledgment. 

His siblings stood hunched around a table, draped in a large map, with small papers and plates of half eaten sandwiches lay around the edges. Micheal held a pen in her hand, and tapped it idly against the desk in thought, while they all spoke in uncharacteristically hushed tones. 

It took his siblings a moment to realize his presence, before glancing upwards, and bestowing a lukewarm greeting in his direction.

Gabriel was the only one to turn in his direction fully, arms outstretched in a well-practiced façade of fond greetings. 

"Aziraphale!" He boomed, taking a step towards the blond prince, "glad to see you've finally returned home." 

Aziraphale wanted to say something in return, a  _ good to be back _ or  _ good to see you,  _ but he wasn't as proficient a liar as his siblings, so he stuck with a shallow bow, and a polite smile.

Gabriel hadn't changed since Aziraphale had last encountered him, still towering over him, with his broad shoulders and unnaturally straight posture, built specifically to put everyone around him just a little on edge. He'd gotten older, sure, with a few lines around his face and a few curls of silver hair, but it didn't take away from his imposing figure. 

Gabriel was a prince, like Aziraphale, but as the oldest, he was only years away from taking over the throne in a more formal capacity. He'd already taken over much of the kingdom's day-to-day responsibilities, leaving only the most important events to be overseen by the Queen, who traditionally kept herself hidden away in an estate by the sea. 

Aziraphale envied his mother sometimes, while equally begrudging the way she'd effectively abandoned them. 

"You've come back at a perfectly decent time too," Gabriel said, "you might actually be able to help us in some capacity." 

The older prince said this as if it were both a great surprise, and a great honor. Aziraphale took it as neither. He raised an eyebrow. 

"You've always been more friendly to our Southern neighbors than we have. Travelled there a little, yes?" Gabriel turned to Aziraphale, in what was almost a rhetorical question. Gabriel knew his exploits fairly well - he always found a way to put them to good use.

Aziraphale nodded. 

"We're meeting with a representative from the kingdom tomorrow. Perhaps you can make yourself useful, and entertain the man while he's here. Have you met a Lord Crowley in your travels?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Not to my knowledge." 

Gabriel brushed it off. "No matter. He'll arrive tomorrow. Be ready to greet him, as always. Any questions?"

Of course he had questions. He wanted to ask about the need for a representative. What exactly were they negotiating? What was making it so difficult to communicate over letters, that they needed to bring someone in to discuss the matters in person? 

However, he knew better than to ask any of his questions out loud. "How long will he be staying with us?" he asked instead. 

Gabriel tilted his head back and forth. "Not long," he said confidently. Aziraphale didn't know how to respond to that. With a stilted smile, Gabriel turned back towards the table, where half a dozen parchment pieces were scattered around. Aziraphale waited for something beyond his brother's vague response, but he was met with indifference. 

"We have some things to finish up here, but we expect to see you at dinner," Gabriel said, refraining from even looking up from the table. 

"Of course," Aziraphale bowed, taking the cue to leave.

He made his way back to his room, where his luggage had already been taken. The covers matched the rest of the castle, with their golden cream colour palette, offset by the dark wooden bed posts that led up into an outrageously dramatic canopy. 

Perhaps it suited him, in aesthetic purposes, but it hadn't ever truly been a comfortable place to curl up in. The ever present maids fiddling with his things to clean them, the scrutinizing visits from his siblings, reminding him to keep himself organized, and the general inability to settle for very long before he left for another kingdom made for a rather stiff atmosphere. It was familiar, but it wasn't quite home. 

Despite this, he was still comforted by the fact that nothing had changed dramatically. He set his luggage atop the bed, and looked around. 

The whole room was dust-free, and the fireplace had even been cleaned of its soot, meaning that Gabriel had sent the servants to it as soon as he'd announced his intentions to return.

Aziraphale took a turn about the room to see that everything had been left in its place, though it wouldn't have bothered him all that much. His room was simply a checkpoint, and despite it containing much of his clothing, and a few of his favorite books, there wasn't much anyone would want to pocket away and sell. 

He made his way to the short bookshelf beside his bed, and examined his collection.

His books remained untouched, thankfully. They were in the same order that they'd been when he'd left, in perfect condition. He'd have to ensure that the books in the library had been treated similarly, but until then, he was satisfied. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a red leather cover, standing beside the shelf, rather than inside it. If Aziraphale had recognized it, he would have said that it had fallen off of the table and slid beside the shelf, but Aziraphale had no recollection of the tome.

Aziraphale walked over to examine the addition, kneeling in front of the shelf to pull it out and set it atop his desk.

It had no words on the cover, which had been carefully stitched together with golden thread. It was rather pretty, compared to some of the other more brown and worn novels he was still quite fond of. 

He pulled it open gently, to investigate further. 

Instead of off-white pages, Aziraphale was met with a hollow shell, as if someone had taken a knife to the pages, and had carved out a box. It was empty of anything of note, save for a folded slip of paper that had clearly once come from a journal of some sort, and a brass wax stamp. The contents of the page made very little sense, and the scrawl of the author had clearly been rushed, making some parts nearly illegible.

_ Curious,  _ he thought, closing the cover. He'd examine it further later. 

Before dinner, he washed himself up, and dug through his luggage to find his circlet. The thin golden crown was of little importance to him personally, but the rest of the family appreciated the gesture. He set it atop his head, before leaving for the dining hall. 

The dining hall - though laced with the ever exciting promise of good food - wasn't much different from the rest of the castle. It followed the theme exactly, save for a deep purple table runner that held all sorts of food that would no doubt be wasted after Aziraphale's family was done with it. 

Aziraphale himself was more than pleased with the selection of food, but his siblings were either too polite to take a larger portion (a practice Aziraphale would never understand) or too picky to eat much. Unfortunately, he followed the trends set by his siblings, and ate quite a bit less than he was used to, as they discussed the ongoing negotiations. He picked at his food appropriately, and savoured what he could, quietly appreciating the meal. His siblings weren't fond of compliments to the chef, but Aziraphale would ensure that he thanked the kitchen properly the next chance he could. 

"Prince Beelzebub has been avoiding my letters of late," Gabriel said sternly, through a mouthful of something green. "They either respond with something meaningless, or don't reply at all. I've considered refraining from sending any letters from this point on in protest."

He wouldn't, Aziraphale knew. Gabriel had an unwavering fascination with the sound of his own voice, which translated even to the act of letter writing. Gabriel wouldn't stop sending missive after missive to the poor prince, even though most of his words would fall on deaf ears. 

Michael agreed, setting her fork against the side of her plate. She refilled her glass of wine. 

Aziraphale took a sip of the wine himself - white, not his favorite - and looked over the rim of his glass. 

Gabriel sat at the head of the table, with Micheal on his right, next to Uriel, and Sandalphon on his left. Aziraphale sat next to his younger brother, listening to him chew much too loudly on a leg of chicken. Aziraphale wasn't the favorite of the family, but at least he knew his table manners. The others didn't seem to notice. 

"I'm sure they'll respond soon. I'm sure they understand the repercussions of their actions, should they prove to be disrespectful." Michael's tone was icy, as it often was, and Aziraphale felt his brow furrow. It sounded like a threat. 

The rest of the family nodded. 

Aziraphale watched as the wax of the overly large white candles dripped down their stems, pooling in the golden candelabras. He let out a sigh that he hoped wasn't audible to his dinner companions. 

He tried to lift his attitude. This was, after all, his home. He enjoyed the kingdom, and much of the castle. He enjoyed the staff who overcame their fears and conversed with him, and he enjoyed the palace grounds. His siblings, however different they seemed from him, still wanted what was best for everyone. 

He tugged at the napkin on his lap. 

As soon as the dinner came to an end, he retired up to his chambers, where he gently set his crown atop his nightstand, and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of his past travels. 

+×+×+×+

The morning came swiftly, accompanied by a pleasant sunshine that poured in through Aziraphale's window. Aziraphale watched as little specks of dust floated around in the sunbeam, relishing the few moments of peace he'd have all day. 

Aziraphale had always been a fan of slow mornings. He could relish in the rare silence that would settle over the castle before the sun had fully risen in the sky, moments before even the birds would stir to begin their morning rounds. He could spend hours laying about in his bed, luxuriating in the stillness of the castle around him, tucking himself up against cool sheets with a good book. 

Unfortunately, this morning did not grant him the opportunity for a lie-in. Instead, he was forced to rise himself regrettably, and to prepare himself for the day. He readied himself at as leisurely a pace as possible, attempting to slow the ever continuing march of time, without actually crossing the line into running late.

His hair stood up at an odd angle at the back. With a few lame attempts at combing it back, he settled his crown atop his head, and hoped it would hide enough of it if placed in the right position. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders after a few moments of fiddling with the rest of his attire, and took a deep breath, steeling himself. 

The family expected the Southern representative to arrive at noon. The family would greet him at the front of the castle, have the servants take his luggage to his room, before promptly forgetting about the poor man until he was useful for negotiations. Aziraphale pictured the man, bouncing back and forth between pictures of a stuffy lord, stubborn and unable to cooperate with his family, or of a man who would blow over like a leaf at the first sign of aggression from Gabriel. Neither of which sounded very appealing. 

Despite the family's tendency to remain cold to most, they tended to over-prepare for events like greetings or introductions. There were certain formalities to meet, and certain things to be prepared for, hours in advance. This meant that though the representative most likely wouldn't arrive for a few more hours, Aziraphale knew to be ready early in the morning, pacing around the castle aimlessly.

The family had also ensured that each aspect of the castle - or at least any part that Lord Crowley would visit - was spotless. Aziraphale was careful not to disturb anything around him, in fear that one speck of dust would land him in increasingly hot water. He greeted the servants as they passed knowing full well that they'd been awake before the sunrise, to prepare for this event. 

He caught a glance of Michael, as she paced down one of the hallways, calling out curtly to one of the maids. 

Aziraphale continued to drift around the castle, searching for something meaningful to do, without much success. He also fought his tendency to sit down somewhere with a book, knowing that the moment he got settled, either the man himself would arrive, or one of his siblings would appear out of nowhere, scolding him for being unproductive. 

Productivity in the castle was relative. Aziraphale could learn a new language, befriend a new Lady from the West, or solve a hundred village disputes, but the rest of his family would still chide him for not doing more to help the  _ kingdom.  _ In reality, the kingdom just meant  _ them _ .

Of course, he wasn't able to accomplish any of these at the present moment.

He'd have more to do as the days passed, as he was reintroduced to the castle. He'd have people to talk to, villages to tour, Lords and Ladies to pacify, that sort of thing, but for now, he was left with nothing to do, and an expectation to be ready at a moment's notice. 

So, he found himself wandering, bored, down the seemingly endless hallways of the castle.

He eventually made his way outside, walking along the pathway that led to the front courtyard. He wouldn't be able to hear the servants yelling of the negotiator's arrival, but he'd eventually make it where he needed to be, so he wasn't overly worried. He admired the gardens, the trees, and the smaller garden life that flitted around the castle, before finally reaching the front of the castle. 

His siblings were often lingering near the front gates whenever company was said to arrive, and so as Aziraphale walked out to the courtyard, he was surprised to find it nearly empty. Two guards were lingering by the gates, as always, but the doors had been opened, allowing Aziraphale a full view of the rock pathway that led up to the castle. 

He sighed, before turning back to the castle. Perhaps he'd go to the kitchen, or grab a book from the library. He might be late to greet the representative, but he'd at least be doing  _ something.  _

Suddenly, he could hear the distant sound of a horse quickly galloping up the pathway. 

He turned back to face the entrance, and he was immediately met with the long nose of a coal black horse, huffing into his face. He stumbled backwards, catching himself from toppling over. It's coal black eyes were nearly level with his, and Aziraphale could smell the beast's foul breath. He looked up quickly, to examine the rider, who clung to the reins in an attempt to keep the horse from trampling the prince completely.

The man was tall, and dressed in a draping black cloak that matched the rest of his coal dark outfit. The only color present in the ensemble was a golden crown that was nestled atop the rider's copper-red hair. 

_ Prince Anthony.  _

The southern prince pulled back on the reins of the horse, attempting to guide it away from Aziraphale. After it finally settled, both of the men let out a sigh of relief. 

"Sorry about that," he said with an apologetic smile, gazing down at the blond, who fought gallantly to keep his heart steady. He'd nearly been trampled by a horse, and now he was face to face with a familiar, and unfortunately very handsome, prince. It appeared as though his uneventful morning had certainly taken a turn.

The prince hadn't changed in the years that had passed since their last interaction, still as long and as dashing as he'd been when they'd first met. The sun did no favors for Aziraphale, as it shone against the southern prince's tanned skin, highlighting his charmingly ruffled hair like a flaming halo.

Anthony said something else that Aziraphale couldn't quite catch. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Aziraphale asked, his voice significantly smaller than he'd remembered it being. 

Luckily, Anthony didn't appear to notice. 

"I asked if I'd hurt you." He leapt down onto the ground. Aziraphale thought momentarily about the swooping nature of his companion, as his cloak circled around him, but he brushed the thought aside.

Anthony, now eye to eye with Aziraphale, offered a small bow. "Are you alright?" He asked, clearly slightly concerned at Aziraphale's inability to answer. Aziraphale managed to nod his head. 

"Good," the redhead exhaled. "I didn't expect anyone to be standing along the pathway, so I suppose I was going a bit faster than I'd intended. I'm glad I didn't hit you."

Aziraphale smiled, his brain finally beginning to cooperate, and returned the bow. "I suppose I'm also quite glad of that." 

He heard the iron doors creak open behind him. 

" _ Aziraphale, _ " he heard Gabriel whisper loudly, before joining the men in the courtyard. He tossed a tense smile towards the guest, and caught his breath.  _ Has he been running?  _ Aziraphale thought quickly. Perhaps he'd been notified of Anthony's arrival, and had rushed out to greet him. Gabriel was always so vigilant for this sort of thing, so it surprised Aziraphale to see him appear slightly flustered. 

Gabriel composed himself quickly. 

"Where's everyone else?" Aziraphale asked, which earned him a sharp look from his older brother. He decided to drop the subject. Gabriel turned to face Anthony. 

Gabriel loomed over Aziraphale normally, but he was almost the same height as the southern prince, who straightened up slightly, maintaining his grip on the horse's reins. 

Gabriel gave him a shallow bow, which was quickly reciprocated. 

"Welcome!" Gabriel said, his voice unnaturally cheerful. He straightened his cloak. "We didn't expect you so early, uh-"

"Prince Anthony," Aziraphale supplied. He watched his brother's strange demeanor with fascination. Being late to greet a negotiator was one thing, but being late to meet a prince? Gabriel paled. As well, he seemed to be as unfamiliar with the southern prince as Aziraphale had been when they'd first met. 

Gabriel looked to Aziraphale, his polished exterior faltering for a moment. "...Prince Anthony." He looked to the southern prince, to his horse, then back. "However, we're glad you've arrived safely. Can I assume that the rest of your things will be coming later?" He asked, his voice tense. 

Anthony nodded. "The carriage was just behind me. I thought I'd ride ahead, it being such a nice day and all. I'm sure Bentley appreciated the exercise." He nodded to his horse. 

Aziraphale thought it was rather charming, and the strands of hair that framed the man's face, loosened by the exertion of the ride, certainly didn't hurt either. Gabriel didn't seem to be of the same opinion. 

"To each their own," he said, tucking his hands behind his back. He wore a very familiar stern look on his face, as if he were contemplating saying something that wasn't as formal as he would like it to be. "Well, we can have a boy bring your horse around to the stables, and Aziraphale can show you around-"

"Actually, if it's alright with you, I'd like to take her to the stables myself," Anthony said, the same easy smile on his face. "I like knowing where they are, in case I'd like to take her for a ride sometime during my stay. Your kingdom seems awfully lovely, I'd like to explore it a little, if possible." He said all this kindly, but with something that Aziraphale thought could be a hint of mocking. Gabriel huffed for a moment, but agreed. 

"Perhaps Aziraphale could take you to the stables first, then show you around," he said, his voice stiff. He'd stopped smiling. 

Aziraphale nodded, and looked to Anthony, who seemed immensely pleased with the situation. 

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, bowing once more towards Gabriel. He pulled the reins of his horse - Bentley, Aziraphale supposed - and looked at Aziraphale. "Lead the way!" 

Gabriel stood there for a moment, before collecting himself and continuing on inside. His face was a tone redder than normal, with his jaw clenched uncomfortably. Aziraphale tried his hardest to keep from finding joy in the unpleasant expression. 

He led Crowley down the pathway along the West side of the castle, which eventually sloped down the hill towards the stables. The rocky path crunched under their feet, and under the hooves of the horse, who now seemed to be much less threatening, from a slightly greater distance. Anthony's cloak brushed over the ground as he walked, gliding along with the man's footsteps. 

It really did seem to be a beautiful day. There were just enough clouds in the sky, against the shockingly blue backdrop, and the late spring air had always been one of the nicest things about living up North. Aziraphale could understand Anthony's decision to refrain from taking a carriage. He voiced this to his companion, who gave him another smile. 

The man really did look quite striking when he smiled, even with just a small, closed mouthed one that he was sporting currently. 

"Anything's better than a carriage, in my opinion. Much too stuffy," he looked to his horse, "and too slow. Bentley's faster." 

Aziraphale raised one of his eyebrows quizzically. 

"Yes, I suppose she would be." He'd had a taste of it earlier in the day. "But if I may, what's the rush? You were set to arrive at noon, and a carriage would have brought you here around then." 

Anthony shrugged. "No rush, really, just a bit of fun." He took the crown off of his head so that he could tuck the little strands of hair behind his ears. He was wearing a golden pin to pull up the majority of his hair halfway - a little snake. It suited him absurdly well. "I always like to arrive early, when possible. Especially for occasions like this - it throws people off." He grinned mischievously. "It's more  _ exciting _ ."

Aziraphale laughed incredulously. "It was rather exciting. Though I'd rather not be trampled by a horse in the near future." Anthony scoffed, but Aziraphale ignored him. "It was… interesting to watch Gabriel panic, I will say that. He's usually more put together."

He hadn't seen Gabriel shaken in  _ years _ . The older prince hadn't been  _ that  _ startled, but seeing him slightly off balance still brought him a small amount of joy. 

Anthony shrugged. "Well, first, I promise not to trample you with my horse any further. You have my word." He put his hand on his heart. "Second, it's not uncommon for me to put people on edge." 

Aziraphale looked to his companion. "Oh?"

"Men like Gabriel like knowing everything around them. Not knowing someone puts them at a disadvantage, and when the person they don't know ranks highly, they don't react well. I've simply decided to embrace it." 

"And you show up early, to boot," Aziraphale laughed. "Men like Gabriel... meet a lot of kings, do you?"

Anthony smirked at the blonde. "Gabriel isn't a king." His golden eyes met blue ones. "Not yet, anyway." 

They approached the large stable building, and pulled open the wooden gate.

The stables weren't anything pretty, but they were functional. They had about a dozen stalls, with half a dozen horses, and a large hay loft at the top. On the hay loft, there sat a man - or a boy, rather.

Newton Pulsifer was the stablehand, and he'd been working at the stable for about a year, after moving from some village just outside of the castle estate. What he lacked in charisma, he made up for in enthusiasm. This combination of traits is what led him to call out to Prince Aziraphale fondly, before promptly tumbling off of the hay loft. 

Anthony took in a sharp breath, his eyes wide, but Aziraphale simply tutted. If falling from a hay loft was going to kill the young man, he would have been dead on the first day. True to Aziraphale's instincts, Newt scurried himself up, brushed himself off, and bowed to the princes.

"Hello Your Highness," he greeted brightly. Aziraphale had always tried his best to be nice to the poor boy, especially seeing as his siblings tended to be a tad rough with their servants. This meant that Aziraphale was Newt's favorite. "What can I do for you today?" Aziraphale smiled, but Anthony furrowed his brow. 

He looked up to the horse he was leading, back to the boy. "I'll let you take a wild guess." 

Newt's face reddened, and he nodded, quickly opening the stall, and reaching for Bentley's reins. Anthony looked down at Aziraphale hesitantly.

"He'll take care of the horse better than he does himself, my dear." Newt seemed quick to agree. 

Anthony looked at him strangely. His eyebrows raised at the use of the word  _ dear,  _ but his expression seemed to land on a fond questioning as he handed the reins to Newt.

"Not a scratch, not a flea, nothing. I'll come back to check on her intermittently, and she'd better look the exact same, if not better." 

Newt nodded once more, in a weak attempt to convince the prince. Anthony sighed. 

After a few more moments of Anthony micromanaging the poor stable hand, discussing her feeding schedule, and how he expected her to be taken care of, Aziraphale managed to pull him away. After all, Newt needed to get back to work, and Aziraphale had decided that he'd had enough of lingering in the stables. The smell always seemed to linger on a person's clothes, and Aziraphale wasn't fond of having to smell like hay for the rest of the afternoon. 

Anthony finally agreed to leave, and with one last goodbye to the horse, they climbed their way back up the hill. Anthony quickly settled back into his good mood, as they entered the castle. 

Aziraphale watched the southern prince admire the castle, and from an outsider's point of view, he could understand that it would certainly be interesting to look at. The ceilings climbed high into the ceiling, with gilded windows and marble pillars matching the rest of the stone cold interior. The meticulously kept hallways were minimalistic, with only the odd gilded painting of some distant relative, or some golden or violet tapestry. However, everything came together well, and Anthony seemed to like it. 

"It's nothing like back home," he'd said, after a few moments of walking up the grand central staircase, that curved up towards the second floor much like a pine wood tidal wave. "Rather the opposite, actually."

Aziraphale agreed. The seemingly bare, pristine aesthetic was quite different from the rich excitement of the Southern Kingdom. That was why Aziraphale had found Anthony's kingdom to be so fascinating; it was new, and unfamiliar. Perhaps his companion was feeling similarly towards what Aziraphale only thought of as a boring cream-coloured palace. 

Aziraphale led Anthony to the dining hall, the banquet chamber, and a few other key parts of the kingdom, before they found themselves at the West wing, where the guest chambers were kept. 

"So this is where you'll be staying," he said, pushing open the door. "I'll get a key for you before dinner tonight, so you can lock up whenever you wish."

Anthony nodded, walking deeper into the room. It was an L shape, with a living area at the front, before turning right, where the bed was kept. It was well furnished, despite its lack of use, with a writing desk, a few chairs, and a wardrobe. It had a grand window in the corner, like Aziraphale's room, with a bench seat. Anthony made a noise of approval. 

"This is nicer than my room back home," he chuckled, running a hand over a velvety 'accent' blanket that had been folded over the back of an armchair. "A lot cleaner too." 

Aziraphale smiled. "Well it's yours as long as you're here," he said, thinking for a moment. "How long do you think you'll be staying? My brother was a tad… vague."

Anthony shrugged, and Aziraphale saw his shoulders sag slightly. "I don't know for certain. A week or so, maybe? Longer, if things don't go well." He picked up a trinket off of the writing desk, and frowned. "Things haven't been going well, so probably longer." 

Aziraphale wanted to reassure him that his siblings would wrap things up in a timely manner, but not only was it untrue, he found himself hoping that Anthony would linger a tad longer along northern grounds. 

Aziraphale watched him examine the room idly, looking at books and other random objects, placed about to make the room seem more interesting. 

"I thought Gabriel would know more than I did," Anthony said, his voice falling slightly lower, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't really know what's going on either. We're all playing by ear, I suppose."

Aziraphale understood, a little. "Things have been rather complicated. I mean, we had no idea you were coming." 

Anthony turned quickly to face the blonde prince, and furrowed his brow. "They told you a representative was coming, didn't they?" 

Aziraphale nodded. "They told us a  _ lord  _ was coming _.  _ You're a prince, it's different." He watched as the men looked around the corner, at the bed. It too had an unnecessarily gaudy canopy, that seemed to match the curtains, the duvet, and the rest of the room. 

"Who'd they say was coming?" Anthony asked. He took off his cloak, and tossed it across the foot of the bed, along with his crown. 

Aziraphale was not granted the full view of the southern prince, clad in his traditionally dark and well-tailored garments, that clung to the plane of his back, and highlighted the stretch of his legs and the curve of his-

As he turned to face Aziraphale, the northern prince snapped his gaze upwards. 

"A Lord Crowley, I think." 

Anthony laughed coldly. "I'm not surprised. Bee told you that, did they?" Aziraphale nodded. "Right. Well, I apologize for misleading the lot of you, but I'm afraid you did get exactly what was promised. I  _ am _ Lord Crowley."

Aziraphale was puzzled. "I thought you were a prince?" 

Anthony sat down on a sofa beside him, spreading out across it. He shrugged. "I am. I'm Prince Anthony, first and foremost. That title overrides the others. However, I also lord over an estate - the Crowley estate."

"Clearly," Aziraphale nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "So you're a prince and a lord? How is that possible?" 

"My father was the son of a king, so, prince. My mother however, was a lady, and I'm her only son, so, lord." He looked to Aziraphale with a smirk. Aziraphale felt his heart skip under the gaze of the man's golden eyes. He'd almost forgotten what they'd looked like. "Bee forgets my title sometimes, it appears. They're  _ funny _ like that." 

"Prince Anthony," he thought, "or Lord Crowly." He was met with a nod. "Which do you prefer?" 

Anthony thought for a moment. "Just… Anthony. Some people call me Crowley, and that works too."

Aziraphale agreed. "Alright then. Anthony." He watched the prince lean his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. "I'll leave you to get settled. I'll have someone send up your luggage when it arrives. Feel free to wander around the castle, I'm sure you'll find plenty of interesting things to explore."

Anthony slouched back against the chair. 

"I'm sure I will," he said, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of him. "But perhaps before you leave you could tell me - what should I expect from negotiations?" 

Aziraphale chuckled. "Well I'm not sure I should give away state secrets or anything, but what do you want to know?" 

Aziraphale watched as the prince in front of him tucked one arm over the back of the couch, as his other arm curled over his head, allowing his long fingers to wind into his hair. He pulled away the pin that had held it away from his face, and combed it down so that it fell just over his shoulders. It appeared to have grown since they'd last met. He seemed to be rather good at getting comfortable, as he effectively draped himself out across the couch, and the northern prince had to stop himself from openly staring at the long line of his companion's exposed neck, just above where his doublet's collar ended. 

"How many of you are there? I know you, and Gabriel, but I remember hearing that there were more royal siblings," he said plainly. 

"Well, there's Micheal and Uriel, my sisters." Two intimidating women, both in battle, and in politics. Uriel and Aziraphale got along well enough, as they had only a year between them, but Micheal wasn't friendly to anyone beyond Gabriel, and even that was negotiable. "They're both older than me, but younger than Gabriel. Then there's Sandalphon, the youngest. He's a few years after me."

Anthony listened carefully. "So it'll be five on one? That hardly seems fair," he laughed, though he didn't sound particularly nervous about it. Aziraphale considered that if he were in Anthony's place, he'd send for reinforcements. However, Anthony seemed unfazed.

"Four, really. I won't be there." 

Anthony frowned. "Oh?"

"I'm not good at," he gestured at nothing in particular, " _ politics.  _ Beyond spreading a bit of goodwill, or chatting up the lords and ladies of the kingdom, I don't control much. It's never been my forté." 

"You certainly left a good impression on the Southern Kingdom," the prince said with a chuckle, crossing one leg over the other. "We - and by we I mean me and the  _ chatted up  _ lords and ladies - thought you were rather charming." 

_ Charming.  _ That wasn't often how Aziraphale had been described. Friendly, perhaps.  _ Soft.  _ That was how Gabriel had described him when the task of negotiating had come up only a few years prior. He'd been shot down mercilessly, and hadn't touched the subject since. 

"Well perhaps I was in a charming mood," he suggested. "Or perhaps there was a good enough reason to be charming." 

He looked up at the prince opposite him, and found himself to be the recipient of an unwavering stare, and a now-familiar smirk. 

" _ Perhaps _ ," he drawled. Aziraphale felt himself flush slightly under the prince's attention. "Regardless, I suppose I should be glad it's just  _ four _ on one. That's not  _ nearly  _ as bad." 

Aziraphale snorted. 

"I suppose I'll just have to see you around then?" Anthony questioned, his voice a sliver less confident than it had been only moments before. 

Aziraphale nodded. "I'm never very far," he said smiling. 

"Good." Anthony looked up at the northern prince with another contented gaze. Aziraphale's heart skipped. 

He left the room with a soft bow, before leaning up against the back of the door in the hallway. He let out a deep exhale. This was going to be more interesting than he'd thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that a few of you came from the first chapter, and that you'll be pleased with this one. Thank you so much to everyone who's commented and left kudos, they make my day, and it's because of a few lovely commenters that I finally decided to dust off this bad boy and continue writing it out. Have a great day, and I hope you stick around to read the third chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! Come chat with me on tumblr at writing-mostly-probably!


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